fairy dust (haibun- daily moments)

The day started with a surprise visit..  I had planned to take a bus to pick up a parcel it and get some items at the grocery store next door.  My son arrived minutes after I had showered, so, I quickly braided my wet hair and rushed out. He mentioned he has to guard frenzied drivers to avoid an accident.  I couldn’t agree more with his need to err on caution since I was careful crossing the street c as well; there seemed too many hurried drivers running red lights and cutting other cars off.

I took advantage of his arms and his car to get heavier items at the store.  We stopped for a submarine on our way home.  As I was waiting for our order to ring up, my son was pointing to the homemade cookies on the counter.  For a moment I felt like I was right back 30 years ago when he was seven and silently eyeing something like a hot wheel or candy bar. A gush of warmth swept over me.

As we stepped out of the restaurant there was blowing snow…looked like millions of tiny white beads spreading on the dark pavement.  Temperatures had dropped today and I was hopeful the ground would stay white just a while longer.

North winds quicken
snow clouds dim late afternoons
chilling brittle bones
fairy dust on dark pavements
brightens this early dusk

© Tournesol ‘15/12/19

perception (haibun)

Today, I woke up looking out the window at the rain; 9 C on December 17th is so rare.  I thought to myself, “Why wait for New Year’s resolutions?” and thought of a haiku at that moment.  Why not write a haiku (or more) a day when the thought pops up in my mind?  Sure I write sometimes three or four posts a day with prompts…but why not go back to basics?  The  reason I started all of my blogs…to journal thoughts of the day and now that I enjoy haiku so much, why not put that moment in a haiku every day?

© clr 2014

wakes up to the rain
looks out at that sky of gloom
crawls back into bed

I have to admit that the rain looked bleak from the inside, but once I walked to work, dressed in my hooded raincoat, I felt pretty darn good.  Isn’t it amazing how life offers you wonderful opportunities to take another look?

two sides of a coin
makes or breaks

looks out the window
lamenting skies
one-sided view

sparkles of joy
nature’s gems

© Tournesol ‘15

preys of deception (troiku)

© Clr’14

that innocent look,
puppy dog eyes luring
victims of his charm

that innocent look
they fall prey
his deceptive charm

puppy dog eyes wait
charm them in parks and beaches
false look of kindness

victims of his charm
sobbing victims betrayed,
look of pretense

© Tournesol ’15

© Clr'15
© Clr’15

This week, we are to do opposite meanings in our two formed sentences. RonavanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge “Charm & Look”

traces (troiku)

taoraruru hito ni kaoru ya ume no hana

the flowering branch of the plum
gives its scent
to him who broke it off

© Chiyo-Ni


frail and broken
trace of plum blossoms linger
on his fingers

frail and broken
during winter’s slumber
waiting to heal

trace of plum blossoms linger
now and forever
their first love

on his fingers
only an illusion
scent of her shampoo

© Tournesol’15

Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie

melancholy (haibun)

This is a time of year a virus peaks its ugly head around mid-November.  It  spreads a virus to those most vulnerable. You may not “catch” it at the same time; you may not catch it every year and yet, there does not seem to be guaranteed antibiotic to cure its infective powers.

September days start waning as the sun sets sooner; October days rob you of nature’s dinner’s sweetest and most potent “digestif”.  November drops its veil of hoary matter and thickens day after day, week after week hiding nature’s Monet, slowly slipping into Picasso’s  Blue period.   Nights are longer than days and symptoms of this virus multiply

Humans are deprived of nature’s nutrient feeding brains with hope and cheer. Life, death, separation and loss blend.  Waiting, as it stings open wounds and those who’ve barely healed  are reminded  of life’s demises.

Children as well as adults struggle through these muddy paths sucked into the windstorm of grief and loss adjusting  to season’s changes in the depths of their heart and soul.

Staring out her window, faithful cat by her side,  cloves comes to mind. That dark bud stares at her, hard and bitter scents bleed into her soul, remembering  Grandmaman in the kitchen adding spices to the turkey dressing.  A portion of sage, pepper, salt and savory, are measured in the palm of her hand.  She smiles when asked the portions as she adds just a pinch of cloves.  Only she had the antidote that lifts the greyness of the soul and makes the heart beat anew.


Mother’s spice of life
unopened flower buds
cloves of promise

© Tournesol’15

The prompt at Linda Hill’s Friday reminder for Stream of Conciousness Saturday is “clo”



Indian Summer (haibun)


Fallen leaves carpet grounds in ambers, except for those that hold on limbs for dear life. Parks are barren, missing squeals of youths and laughter among families. Park benches are abandoned by lovers, both young and old. Autumn’s melancholy mushrooms over time as winds blow mockingly. Suddenly, temperatures rise to unseasonal heights with warmer days, oh! so short-lived, teasing all things living.

Indian Summer squats
basking under sun kissed skies
Mother Nature lies.

© Tournesol’15/12/08

Six Sentence Stories “lie”

Six Sentence Stories at Unchartedblogdotorg


Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille at MindLoveMiserysMenagerie